


Keeping Faith

by minumi



Series: When Love Is Given Freely [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Durin Family, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minumi/pseuds/minumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>When pestilence strikes the Blue Mountains, Thorin is hard pressed to keep faith, and show his nephews how to do the same . . . How does one keep faith when every day despair takes root deeper in the heart?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Written for this prompt at The Hobbit Kink Meme on LJ](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3138.html?thread=3857986#t3857986):
> 
> _Five times Thorin had to take care of his nephews and one time they had to take care of him._
> 
> This is the second story in a series of six.
> 
>  
> 
> [Read the first installment here~](http://archiveofourown.org/works/644914)

* * *

“The count?”

 

“Thirty more last night,” Balin answered gravely.

 

Thorin did not look up from his desk, forehead leaning wearily against steepled fingers. The House of Healing would soon run out of beds.

 

“Yesterday, I saw the baker’s dwarflings were carried in...”

 

“One did not make it to see the morn. I fear the other may follow soon.”

 

Callous fingers threaded together and clenched tightly until his knuckles cracked. Only five babes had been born to their people this year; already three of them were lost. He did not let his thoughts stray to his nephews.

 

If his voice was rougher around his next words, Balin had the grace to ignore it, “Any word from Dís?”

 

“Milady’s raven returned with this,” Balin handed him a piece of rolled parchment inked in a beautiful hand, “She had already moved on to the next town by the time she received your note, it seems.”

 

Thorin sighed, reading over his sister’s neat script. The towns of men in the foothills of the Blue Mountains were angry and wary of the dwarven travellers and merchants coming out of the mountains. They shut their doors, and shuttered their windows against his people, blaming them for the pestilence spreading through the land with the onset of winter. Though there were many among his race who decried that the sickness plaguing them had started in the towns of men.

 

None could be certain, and little did its origins matter now, when all they sought was an end to it. Its course was swift and merciless, claiming first the old, before wearing down the strong; but the panic started rising only when it began taking their children. It was a blow they could not afford, neither in spirit nor in numbers, for too seldom were there celebrations of new births among his people in these dark days.

 

“She tries to sell our wares further down the valley. The men there will be more amenable to trade, she thinks,” _They won’t be_ \-- He doesn’t say. “I should not have allowed her to go.”

 

“You could not have kept her here,” Balin shook his head with a knowing sigh.

 

“The road is especially dangerous this time of year.”

 

“Dwalin is with her, you yourself assigned him to her guard.”

 

“She should have no need to travel, selling wares like a common peddler.”

 

“You should have no need to wrought horseshoes and fix pots like a common blacksmith. Our purses are all tight these days, laddie.”

 

“But I alone can make enough to support us. I would not let Fíli and Kíli want for anything. They are my nephews.”

 

“Aye, but they are her sons _first_.”

 

Very few there were with the gall to chasten Thorin Oakenshield, fewer still were those he would not strike down for offering such insult. But it was difficult to remember a time when his old tutor had not been present to give his pride a dampening nudge, and his words never failed to help Thorin see truths too long overlooked.

 

“You are right to remind me,” Thorin sighed, a small chagrined smile tugging the corners of his lips, “And I am griping...”

 

“Aye, laddie. That you are,” Balin chuckled, patting his shoulder with an old familiarity, “For someone who never wanted to be a father, you have certainly taken to it like a mattock to stone.”

 

The swell of pride in his chest was warm and secret. Perhaps it was for the best that Dís be far until the worst was over. She would  be safer from this scourge, and return to her sons safe and hale. He sobered once more.

 

“Do we have enough volunteers to deliver rations?”

                           

“Yes, we gained three more this morn. Might that convince you to stop exposing yourself?” Balin looked at him pointedly, arms folded across his chest. The old dwarf had proposed a systematic quarantine to keep the sick from infecting the healthy, but those who could not leave their homes would need food and water delivered by those brave enough to risk exposure.

 

“I would not ask anything of others I would not be willing to do myself, Balin.”

 

The old dwarf sighed, something proud in his words, “You are named well, _Amtêkurdu_ [1].”

 

“And you are getting soft, _Bahyrumùrad_ [2],” he grumbled so that he would not smile. “Were we sent an inventory of the herbs the healers need replenished?”

 

“Yes, the lists were--”

 

“Uncle!!”

 

Thorin looked up sharply to find his youngest nephew bounding into his study, grin wide on his chubby face. Fíli was not far behind, looking a tad harried as if he had chased his brother all the way here.

 

“Fíli, Kíli, I told you to say inside,” Thorin stood, hands planted firmly on his desk as he stared the pair down unamused.

 

At his the unexpectedly stern greeting, Kíli skid to a halt, keeping his balance only because he grasped onto Balin’s long robe.

 

“But Uncle...” He trailed off with a slight cough, brow furrowing as if it only then realizing he had disobeyed.

 

“He would not be stayed--” Fíli panted, looking quickly between his brother, his uncle, and the floor, “I thought I should not let him come alone...”

 

Thorin’s gaze saw the amused sparkle in Balin’s eyes, and finally softened. Memories curled like wisps of smoke in forgotten corners of his mind; the impossibility of getting his own siblings to obey their elders when it mattered most, their laughter echoing in great halls now lost to the wyrm.

 

“You did right, Fíli.”

 

The look of grateful relief on his nephew’s face should not have made his chest tighten so. There was a giggling presence tugging at his tunic suddenly.

 

“Uncle Thorin! Uncle Thorin! Will you take us sledding today?”

 

“Where are your gloves Kíli?” he evaded the question expertly, ignoring Balin’s teasing grin.

 

“Here,” Fíli pulled them from his coat pocket, and tugged his brother’s hands free of their uncle’s clothes. Grumbling as he helped Kíli pull them on, “If you had not run out the door so fast--”

 

“And your scarves?” Thorin pulled their hoods to reveal bare little necks as they squirmed and giggled, “We cannot go sledding, because you’re not properly dressed. Besides, there is not enough snow on the mountain.”

 

“But Uncle!!” Kíli looked devastated by the news. “What if it has snowed since you last looked? It could have, right?”

 

Fíli shrugged unhelpfully, patting his little brother on the head, “I told you, Kíli.”

 

“We shall die of boredom!!” Kíli wailed.

 

“Do _not_ say such things,” Thorin gruffed, watching little hands cover Kíli’s mouth as his eyes widened comically, “You forget what today is.”

 

“Lettering day,” Fíli nodded confident and sure, clearing his throat with a smile when Thorin pat his head.

 

“Yes, and that can be done _inside_ ,” he eyed the younger dwarfling with an arched brow. Kíli sighed in resignation.

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

“I can take care of the rest here, Thorin,” Balin offered.

 

Thorin nodded his thanks, taking small hands in his own as he lead his nephews away, “Perhaps we will do twice the usual amount of letters today, so we do not forget your Uncle’s instructions next time, hmm?”

 

“What?!” Kíli moaned.

 

“Kíli!” Fíli’s hiss promised retribution later.

 

* * *

 

They rode through the square briskly, Fíli and Kíli still small enough to share his pony. He hastened to get them away from the stir of people still brave or healthy enough to mill about the shops. But the empty quiet of the streets was noticeable, and the sorrowed strain of those they met was not easily masked.

 

“What’s that?” Kíli tugged at his sleeve, pointing at two shaggy mules pulling a creaking cart, its cargo a set of long stone boxes.

 

Thorin clicked his tongue urging the pony faster and did not answer.

 

“Look, Kíli--” Fíli distracted him, for which he was grateful, “They’ve begun to set out the yule blocks.”

 

“Oh!! Uncle! Uncle Thorin!! May we get one, please!!”

 

“There are many weeks still until Solstice,” He did not want to stop if he could help it. They had been out in the open air too long already.

 

“Oh _pleaseee_!!” Kíli wriggled behind him in a fit that he knew would see no end.

 

“ _Hush,_ ” His tone was harsher than he’d meant it to be, but he pulled their ride to a stop, dismounting with a firm warning, “ _Stay_ here.”

 

He paid the old dwarf more than he asked for having troubled to open his shop at all. Half expecting to turn and find his nephews gone, he was pleased to see the two remained where he had left them, staring at the darkened windows of the shop across the road.

 

“Uncle Thorin,” Fíli’s brow was furrowed, his voice low with something like suspicion, “Why is the bakery closed so early?”

 

“Many shops are closed today, Fíli,” Thorin remounted carefully, “Most everyone is staying inside as I’ve asked them to, except for two rebellious little dwarflings. Now home, no more stops, or questions.”

 

* * *

 

Their home was a solitary den on a small ridge overlooking much of the city. It offered the vestiges of Durin’s line little grandeur but much valued privacy. The hours crept by slowly while he set the dwarflings to their studies and started the chores.

 

There was a time in distant memory, when servants and attendants stood at his beck and call. Cooking meals, and clearing plates, dusting suites and halls full of fine furniture and treasures. Laundering his richly tailored clothes so that they appeared clean and folded in his drawers and wardrobes, as if by magic.

 

Now Thorin washed his own shirts, scrubbed and rinsed his nephew’s tiny tunics, carefully pressed and ironed his sister’s robes. He wondered on darker days if Erebor was but a beauteous vision he once dreamed, or if perhaps this life was a long nightmare from which he had yet to wake.

 

He joined the children once more when the chores were finished and dinner was roasting over the fire. Scrolls littered his half of the table as he poured over half finished designs his sister left for him to decipher, separating what they had the means to make and what might best sell. At some point he realized he could no longer hear Fíli’s quill.

 

“Fíli your list of runes will not write themselves. Finish your assignment,” Thorin scolded lightly without so much as glancing up from his work. Soon the dwarflings would begin their lessons at his forge, and Thorin would have to complete several commissions before there would be time to--

 

“Yes, Uncle.”

 

Something in his nephew’s voice made him look up. Ever the dutiful child, Fíli picked up his quill once more and set it to the paper. His strokes were too slow and lethargic to keep the ink from blotting and ruining the sheet. Yet, he did not seem to notice.

 

Beside him Kíli’s dark head rested on the table, wispy locks splayed over the wood. His cheek was pressed into the frightening scritches of black ink covering the page. Kíli’s best imitation of his brother’s work was still a far cry from legible. The boundless energy that would have had him chattering or fidgeting at any other time completely absent.

 

“You two are astonishingly quiet,” Thorin frowned suspiciously, “Should I expect a tally from one of the peddlers at the market for damaged goods?”

 

Fíli continued as if he had not heard. Though the fire had been stoked high at Kíli’s incessant complaints about the chill, it was not so hot as to warrant his nephew’s flushed skin. The boy rubbed at his eyes tiredly, squinting for too long at the page before finding the line he left off.

 

“Fíli?” unease crept silently into his heart when the boy raised dull weary eyes to him, blinking several times but not quite focusing. He was at his nephew’s side in the next instant, large hand cupping a heated cheek, “Fíli you burn with fever. Why did you not say anything before?”

 

“I only thought I should finish...” The end of his answer was lost in an uncharacteristic slur.

 

“Nevermind that now. How long have you been feeling ill?” he smoothed a thumb over his hot brow.

 

“I . . . maybe a bit after midday meal? Kíli-- Kíli wasn’t feeling well either . . .”

 

His youngest nephew’s face was completely hidden by a curtain of dark hair. He brushed it aside, alarmed at the sweaty dampness of his hair before revealing the deep flush of the child’s face. Kíli’s skin was scalding to his touch.

 

“Kíli? Kíli--” Thorin shook the dwarfling but he only mewled in complaint, rubbing an ink-stained fist across his eyes. “Kíli, I need you to wake up.” 

 

He shook more firmly until dark eyes slitted open, and dry lips mumbled,  “M’head hurts.”

 

Icy tendrils of fear chilled the blood in his veins.

 

“Uncle Thorin--” Fíli’s voice shook, his eyes suddenly large and frightened, “He was warm this morning, and-- and dizzy. I didn’t say, I thought it was just... I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’m sorry. Is he going-- Will Kíli-- I’m _sorry_ \--”

 

“Hush, Fíli.  You’ve done nothing wrong,” Thorin pulled him close and kissed his brow.

 

He should have known better than to try keeping his eldest in the dark. The dwarfling he named his heir was sharp as any blade he had ever forged, never failing to peer through all the veils he built around their innocence; and more often than not aiding him in keeping Kíli unawares of the hardships he tried to protect them both from.

 

“Are you yet feeling strong enough to help me with your brother?”

 

“Yes,” Fíli nodded firm, little face flushed but his eyes more alert than earlier.

 

“Draw us a cool bath then.There’s a good lad,” His hand gave the back of his hot neck an encouraging squeeze.

 

Gathering Kíli in his arms, he sifted through the mess on the table for a blank sheet. His runes were tilted with haste, and some lines seemed to squirm away under the shaking of his quill, but it was legible. Tied and sealed, he attached the roll of paper to their swiftest raven. Slipping a small red stone around its neck to mark the urgency of his message, he nudged the bird out the window to find its destination.

 

~+~

 

_Balin,_

 

_Add my residence to the quarantine list._

 

_And please, send for Dís posthaste._

 

_~T.O._

 

_~+~_

 

 

* * *

 

[1] _Amtêkurdu_ \-- “To steel (strengthen) hearts” -- my headcanon for Thorin’s true name. [See here for some info.](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/d/dwarves.html) Dwarves reveal their true name to few outside of family. I like to think the use of them is a sign of trust and intimacy.

[2] _Bahyrumùrad_ \-- “Wise soul” -- my headcanon for Balin’s true name. I have chosen the film’s interpretation of Balin as an elder statesman. 

My Khuzdul comes from [this lovely dictionary](http://www.scribd.com/doc/98387422/Khuzdul-Dictionary-E-K-v01-JUN12) as well as some linguistic acrobatics of my own, thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How does one keep faith when every day despair takes root deeper in the heart?_

* * *

  

“Balin.”

 

His voice rasped with astonished dread when the old dwarf appeared at his door evenings after his raven departed.

 

“Thorin,” the old dwarf bowed.

 

“ _Leave_.”

 

“There was a time when _I_ was the one using that tone on you, laddie.”

 

“Were you not _scolding_ me this morn--”

 

“I have no authority to _scold_ you anymore, Thorin Oakenshield,” Balin’s voice was laced with steel, but a wry grin soon creeped over his wrinkled face, “I am but a soft and aging hypocrite, but while I am hale, I will send no other in my place.”

 

Sorrow tore at the edges of Thorin’s answering smile.

 

“The little ones?” Balin asked.

 

Two days had passed since the raven departed their home.

 

“Both with high fever. The rash-- It has begun on Kíli.”

 

A shadow fell over the old dwarf’s features. At last he said, “Lady Dís is yet a fortnight from here...”

 

He did not say what they both knew. Those who succumbed to the rash rarely made it past a seventh sunrise. Thorin grit his teeth.

 

“My thanks, Balin. Come only when you must, send a raven in your stead should a missive need my attention.”

 

“We will keep the city running, laddie-- And as alive as can be. When word spread of the little princes . . . Well I had several dozen more volunteers this morn, suffice to say.”

 

Thorin tipped his head to his old tutor as the dwarf set down the pack of supplies on his doorstep with a bow.

 

“His hammer shield you, laddie,” the old dwarf uttered solemnly.

 

He waited until he could no longer see Balin’s stout form traveling back down the path before unlatching the door and taking the bag inside to the table. Wrapped carefully in the parcel, he found fresh bread, enough vegetables for a stew, dried meats. At the bottom lay jars of herbs and salves, each labeled with meticulous instructions. They would soothe the worst of the symptoms, easing the pain, but no remedy to their knowledge could completely banish the cursed ailment. All they would do, was delay the inevitable for as long as possible...

 

The wood of the table groaned under his sudden grip. He welcomed the pain of its carved patterns digging into the heel of his palms, dispersing his morose line of thought. The intricate carvings had been lovingly crafted by Jóli’s steady hands. Years after his passing, this table and so many of his works, still kept them company in their apartments. A constant reminder-- or an admonition, he remained ever uncertain.  

 

“U-Uncle--”

 

The tremulous voice broke through his dark reveries as it drifted down from the rooms above. A terrible cough soon followed. He gathered the remedies delivered and hurried to his sister-sons. The air was thick and hot in the room the dwarflings shared, a fire burning strong to combat the chill they had complained of.

 

Fíli’s small body was racked with a shattering cough that only seemed to gain momentum with every small sip of air the child breathed. Beside him Kíli whimpered low in his throat, too weary to continue his choked sobs from earlier in the day. Tiny fingernails, stained a ruddy brown, twitched in furious abandon over his cloth covered belly. Thorin knelt by the bed and propped up his ailing nephew.

 

“Easy, Fíli,” a large hand caressed sweaty blonde hair, his other rubbing circles into Fili’s back until his cough calmed to ragged breaths, “Breathe slow, there’s a good lad . . .”

 

“U-Uncle--” the hoarse whisper was distressed, eyes large and pleading for him to make things right, “He won’t stop-- stop scratching.”

 

“It’s alright,” it _wasn’t_ , “Balin has brought something that will help.”

 

Kíli whined loudly as his fingers were pulled away from where they scratched his neck. They came away red.

 

Alarmed, Thorin opened the sweat-dampened tunic to reveal the dwarfling’s skin, startled to see how far the ugly red rash had spread. His incessant scratching had left several patches of skin raw enough to draw blood.

 

Had he not struggled with Kíli’s tetchy squirming in the quiet of the long hours before dawn? Slathering every inch of reddened skin with the last of the salve, putting up with tearful complaints about the stink and discomfort, and rocking Kíli to sleep to keep him from doing just this sort of damage . . .

 

Forge roughened hands uncapped another jar, and smoothed more balm over itchy skin that burned with fever, prompting Kíli’s tears anew.

 

“Uncle no no-- Uncle nahh--” his youngest coughed and wriggled and cried. Beside him, Fíli shook with chills, biting his lip as he curled up into a ball, little hands covering his ears.

 

“ _Hush_ , Kíli. It will pass,” Thorin whispered and soothed over the ragged wails of the suffering child, “I promise . . . It will pass . . .”

 

“Mummy says,” Fíli’s voice trembled, “Not to make promises when you cannot keep them . . .”

 

Thorin swallowed, a terrible silence choking the rebuttal he could not think of. He watched as his eldest raised small pale fingers to his collar, scratching restlessly for a long moment.

 

When his hand curled back around the bed sheets, his fingertips were stained red.

 

.

 

* * *

 

.

 

 

The days passed in a frightening blur.

 

Kíli wailed and kicked, mewled and squirmed his every pain and discomfort, until all that was left of his voice was a broken rasp. His hands tied in cloth, even still tried to scratch at the ugly red rash that bubbled along most of his skin. Fíli lay sullen and shivering, when his fits did not steal the breath from his lungs and the color from his skin. He waned day by day, under his efforts to keep his brother at peace, until only his wheezing breaths belied the deathly pallor of his skin. 

 

Thorin worked tireless and resolute to see to their every need, to seek every possible comfort, but it was not enough. The boundless energy and life he loved  them for seeped out of their frail bodies as the hours whirled past him. Despair sought refuge in their hearts with every morning that saw their mother still leagues away, with dwindling hope of a timely return.

 

As light filtered down into the room their eighth morning of isolation, Thorin woke with a start from his intended vigil to a bout of fearful screams. During the night, Kíli’s eyes had crusted shut, and the darkness seemed to him unending. Beside him, his elder brother stirred with a whimper of his own, an exhausted cough leaving his lips as his small hands reached instinctively to soothe. It was long minutes while Thorin cleaned away the mire with large hands that could never be gentle enough for his ailing sister-son.

 

“Be still, Kíli,” His voice rumbled low and calm, rough from sleep,  “Do not fear, you will be able to see soon.”

 

“M’hurts!” Kíli whined, fidgeting under his care, breaths hitching, “Wan’ Mummy . . .”

 

“Shh,” Thorin brushed the dampness from his little face, “Be brave, little one.”

 

“No! N-nuh!!” Kíli sobbed weakly, “Mummy!”

 

A cold lump of fear churned in his stomach. To have the child still breathing in his arms, when so many had succumbed within days of the illness, was nothing short of a blessing.

 

“You have done so well, Kíli, to bear this pain. Fight on, she will be here soon. You shall see--”

 

“No now! Wan’ Mummy _now_!”

 

“Shh, Kíli. I’m here--”

 

“Nuhhh--- _Mummy_! Where’s Mummy? _Mummy_!”

 

When the trembling child struggled against him in earnest, Thorin was suddenly bereft of the strength to stop him. Kíli flopped back onto the bed, heaving with wretched sobs. Immediately, Fíli curled around him, but no comfort left his fever-chapped lips as he rubbed at his own wet eyes.

 

 

_~Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.~_

 

 

Three firm knocks echoed through the halls of their quiet home, signaling Balin’s return.

 

He moved on instinct, slow and unsteady, as if caught in a twisted dream. Pulling the blankets tight around the pair, he willed the tightness to leave his throat before he reached the door.

 

.

 

* * *

 

.

 

 

“Balin. When did you last see your bed?”

 

“None of that now, laddie. You look just as ready to fall over, I assure you,” the old dwarf grumbled, suppressing a cough as he handed off a pack of ever diminishing supplies. His white brows crinkled warily, “The little ones?”

 

Thorin shifted, lips thinning, “Any word from Dis?”

 

The dour shadow in Balin’s eyes told him all he needed to know. He took stock of the items in the pack that seemed to become lighter with each visit as their quarantine list grew.

 

“Mahal preserve them,” Balin spoke low, barely a whisper and cleared his throat.

 

Thorin’s hands tightened in the canvas of the bag.

 

“Send out another raven.”

 

“And what message shall it carry?”

 

He swallowed thickly, giving up a small piece of parchment. Balin took it and bowed, solemn and low, as if a great weight pressed him towards the ground. Thorin watched him take his leave, striding with haste down the steps to take care of the task at hand.

 

Thorin closed his eyes and prayed for his message to arrive on swift wings.

 

.

 

~+~

 

_Mízimel,_

 

_Your sons call out for you._

 

_Do not let their cries go unanswered._

 

~+~

.

 

* * *

 

.

 

Three days passed. Still no word came.

 

The stench of death permeated the air under the mountain.

 

Who could say if there remained any life outside of it?

 

.

 

* * *

 

.

 

 

 _~Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ ~

 

 

 

His head pounded with a heavy thud. No--

 

 

 

_~Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.~_

 

 

 

The door-- When had he fallen asleep?

 

He bolted upright, pulling short when Kíli’s grip on one of his braids held fast. The dwarfling stirred from his fitful sleep, a low whimper in his throat. Beside him, Fíli trembled despite the two blankets Thorin had wrapped around them both. His sigh quickly turned into a long fit of coughing that rattled what little breath reached his lungs.

 

Pulling free of Kíli’s grip, his vision swam as he reached for his eldest sister-son, turning him on his side and rubbing his neck soothingly until the child could finally wheeze without threat of choking on another cough. The boy croaked something unintelligible, throat parched from fever.

 

Thorin slipped past Kíli’s outstretched hands despite the little one’s protest, turning towards the pitcher he had left on the bedside table.

 

 

_~Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.~_

 

 

He misjudged the distance, tipping the pitcher over the edge. It nearly crashed to the ground when his hands grasped at air, but somehow he managed to save it despite the spinning of the room. The metal rattled against the table as he set it safely down once more.

 

“Uncle...” Fíli rasped, sounding frightened and so very small. Beside him Kíli coughed weakly through his whimpers, reaching blindly for him.

 

“Shh, shh . . . All is well,” Thorin knelt at their bedside once more, swaying only a little. Large gentle hands, caressed their clammy faces, trying to soothe away their rising anxieties. The bed was soft beneath his elbows, and his head was heavy with sleep.

 

 

_~Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.~_

 

 

Jerking up once more, Thorin rubbed at his aching temples. 

 

“I must get the door. I will return shortly--”

 

“Nn-- dun’ go!”

 

Kíli latched onto him with a desperation born of an unknown fear. Fíli looked near tears, wheezing heavily and reaching for him as well.

 

Hesitating for a moment, he untangled himself from both of them, “That is cousin Balin. I must answer the door. He will be bringing you remedies to ease your pains, remember? I will be but a moment, little ones, I promise--”

 

“It is cold!” Kíli stalled, tiny fingers tightening in his sleeve.

 

“I will stoke the fire,” Thorin sighed, fixing the blankets around the dwarflings, “And then I _must_ answer the door.”

 

Fíli’s face crumpled with despair as he pulled away, “I dreamt we were _alone_!”

 

Thorin froze where he stood. 

 

“There were black shadows all around us. They howled and gnashed their teeth, coming ever closer,” the tears flowed freely down his flushed face, “In the distance I could see you, but the shadows came between us. I tried to reach for you but the dark came down upon us. I called for you, but you did not answer. We were _alone_.”

 

Thorin knelt before them slowly, brushing callous knuckles over fevered skin in silent reassurance, “I am here. And you are not alone. I will never let it be so.”

 

Kíli seemed to calm, but his brother only shuddered harder, “Please do not _go--_ ”

 

 

_~Thunk. Thunk. THUNK.~_

 

 

“Fíli, I _will_ return.”

 

“ _No--_ ”

 

Thorin stood on unsteady feet. Ignoring the unsettled turns of his stomach, he stoked the fire high, adding a few logs. Grabbing the pitcher to refill the water he had spilled--

 

“Uncle _, please_!”

 

He left the room without a second glance.

 

.

 

* * *

 

.

 

 

“Well, good morning, sir!”

 

Thorin frowned dangerously at the stranger on his doorstep, “Where is Balin?”

 

“He couldn’t come, sir. He’s fallen ill and so sent me in his stead.”

 

Alarmed, Thorin felt a wave of dizziness that forced him to grab onto the threshold. His eyes studied the dwarf, “And you are?”

 

“Bofur son of Bukkur, at your service, Sir.”

 

“Thorin. Thorin will do.”

 

“Sir?” The other dwarf’s brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“You were kin to Jóli, were you not?” Thorin asked suddenly, trying to focus his blurring vision more clearly. Memory stirring to days long gone, when his sister would cajole him into attending the dinners she hosted for her husband’s kin.

 

“He was kin to my cousin’s wife actually, Sir, but close enough. You’ve a good memory. I’m dismayed to return to his house under these circumstances. His little ones, how do they fair?”

 

“They yet live,” Was all Thorin could answer without lying. He gripped the door frame harder to keep the floor from swerving under his feet.

 

“Aye,” Bofur looked at him long, his eyes going soft, his brow drawn in sadness, before he shrugged  “Do us a favor? Give this to the lads, it’s small comfort but--”

 

Thorin took the proffered figures carved diligently from wood, painted with fine colors; a small pony, and an almost friendly looking warg. He recognized the work as that of the axe-riddled toymaker whose stall his sister-sons so often visited when he took them to market. For a moment, he thought he saw the creatures move and wriggle in his hands. His frown must have drawn Bofur’s attention for he chuckled with some chagrin.

 

“Aye, I know, probably not the most proper thing, a warg that is. But ol’ Bifur-- my cousin, Sir-- says Kíli’s awful fond of playing the villain to Fíli’s heroics. So there you have it.”

 

“Thank you,” Thorin said after a long moment of contemplative silence. He took a deep breath, swallowing down the tickle of a cough, “They will thank Bifur for his kindness when they recover.”

 

Bofur’s smile was a sad crooked old thing. He rubbed his nose with a sniff,  “Aye... I hope they do.”

 

With a bow, the dwarf took his leave. Out of sight, Thorin leaned heavily against the door, breathing deeply to ward off another wave of lightheadedness. He pocketed the toys, and scratched at his neck as he settled the delivered bag on the table. Remembering the pitcher, he took it towards the barrels that stood near the wash basin.

 

It was difficult to keep his balance with what seemed like a fog burdening his mind. Surprised to find himself bumping into the rim of the basin so soon, the pitcher slipped from his grasp and crashed loudly in the quiet of the house. Upstairs, Kíli must had startled, for his wails began immediately.

 

But Thorin stood transfixed on the queer sight before him. The pitcher lay on its side, unassuming and slightly tarnished, but bright against the silver handle of the pitcher was a smear of red. Slowly, he lifted his hand to find the same red painting his fingers. Only then did he catch his reflection in the metal of the basin.

 

Rising over the collar of his tunic to creep up the side of his neck was an angry looking rash. Fresh welts in the long shape of scratching fingernails glistened with blood.

 

Above him, Kíli still cried, his brother calling for him between desperate coughs, but Thorin was powerless to answer. The world had narrowed to his spinning reflection, whirling faster and faster into a deep abyss until the ground rose up to meet him and he could do little more then close his eyes to greet it.

 

.

 

* * *

 

 

 

[1] Mízimel -- “Light of all Lights” -- my headcanon for Dis’ true name.[See here for some info.](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/d/dwarves.html) Dwarves reveal their true name to few outside of family. I like to think the use of them is a sign of trust and intimacy. (Funny note on this name, I mixed the meaning up in my notes with another name "Lukhudel". So Mízimel actually means "Jewel of all Jewels." For the sake of the canon of this series, let's all pretend it means otherwise x'DDD //shame face)

My Khuzdul comes from [this lovely dictionary](http://www.scribd.com/doc/98387422/Khuzdul-Dictionary-E-K-v01-JUN12) as well as some linguistic acrobatics of my own, thanks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Omens on the horizon . . ._

_._

 

* * *

 

_._

 

 

The old rocking chair by the hearth creaked and cawed on its hinges. Its occupant busy whittling away at a block of wood, the shape yet indeterminable. The glow of the fire was all the light he needed to work by as the wood shavings piled up slowly at his bobbing feet. His weathered voice hummed low in chorus with the chair’s cacophony.

 

“Evenin’, Thorin.”

 

He could not find a voice with which to answer.

 

Darkness folded in around him, heavy, cold, restraining, threatening to overtake him completely. Only the feeble flickering of the flames in the hearth held the black shadows at bay within its small circle of light.

 

“Why do you lurk in the shadows like an orc? Come into the light,” the other dwarf gestured at the chair just outside the edge of the darkness.

 

“Jóli--” Thorin croaked as if he had not spoken for a thousand years, “Why are you here?”

 

“This is my home. Why shouldn’t I be here?”

 

He had no answer that would not seem weak in the face of the truth.

 

“What do you _want_?”

 

“Does Kíli still prefer wargs to ponies?”

 

Thorin could only blink bewildered.

 

“I do hope he’s grown out of that habit. He’s much better as a little hero, don’t you think so? His will be next. This one though, this one’s for Fíli. He favors the ones that wind up. But you would know that, right?”

 

His smile was kind. And yet it mocked him all the more.

 

Jóli motioned again at the chair opposite him, “Come into the light would you--”

 

With a roar he overturned the wooden chair, kicking it towards the fire.

 

“What is your purpose here!”

 

Jóli sighed with a roll of his eyes, “Can’t I come greet me boys?”

 

All the blood in his veins ran cold, and for a long moment Thorin shook between fear and fury.

 

When he found his voice it wavered, “You cannot have them.”

 

Jóli put down his carving, “They are not yours to keep.”

 

“You would abandon them in life and usurp them now in death!”

 

“Ho!” his laugh was a sweet happy thing, “You have grown twice as arrogant since we last met to call _me_ the usurper, Thorin!”

 

Thorin bristled, “What say you! Speak clear!”

 

“Tell me, then.... Does little Kíli even recall my name anymore?”

 

Ten thousands stones, the weight of a mountain, held Thorin fast where he stood. Breathing hard, reaching for the axe gone missing from his belt, he stared down the specter that ever pervaded his sister’s home.

 

“I will not let them go.”

 

Something like pity softened the other dwarf’s features as he picked up his whittling knife once more. The shavings floated down slowly to the floor as molted feathers.

 

“Someday,”  His voice was soft with melancholy, “You will have no choice but to do so.”

 

“I will not live to see that day.”

 

Jóli was silent. The fire died out. In the darkness that consumed them, his eyes glowed dim as flickering embers.

 

.

* * *

.

 

 

 

 

Silence rang deep in his ears as Thorin slowly woke from the darkness that blanketed him. It dissipated like a heavy veil of ink under the bright moonlight that filtered through the light shaft of their modest home. The stone beneath him was damp and frigid, sending shivers through his fevered skin. A formidable chill permeated the room, and he realized with a start he had let all the fires die out.

 

His attempt to rise was little more than a useless flailing of limbs, every part of him feeling heavy as lead. In the gloom up the stairs, his dwarflings lay alone in the cold.

 

In his heart, the dread and doubt inspired by Jóli’s words lingered.

 

The air was still and soundless. Thorin finally forced himself to his feet, nearly falling again until he steadied himself on the edge of the basin. The abandoned pitcher clanged and groaned as he knocked into with a booted foot. The din echoed off the walls several times, and then--

 

Silence.

 

Nary a peep from the dwarflings above, no stirring, no cries. Cold seeped into his veins, and with it a strength he had thought drained from him. He staggered up the long flight of stairs.  He had a made a promise, and he would be keeping it; if he had to _crawl_.

 

Clawing his way over the last few steps to reach the landing, Thorin held the railing until his vision stopped swimming. When he could focus on the right door, he stumbled into the room, almost collapsing beside the bed.

 

“U-Uncle?” Wide blue eyes overflowed with tears.

 

“Here I am.”

 

“U-Uncle, Uncle!” Fíli rose shakily reaching for him.

 

Thorin fell to his knees gathering his both sister-sons close. Fili’s pressed a chilled face against his neck where he shook with relieved sobs.

 

“K-Kíli will not wake-- He got cold and-- and you were not here to relight the fire and-- he will not wake! Uncle, why were you gone so long? I thought--” he choked, coughing weakly into Thorin’s collar.

 

“I promised I would return, did I not?” Thorin gathered him closer, whispering softly, “I’m here now. Hush, no more tears.”

 

He lay the back of his hand upon the Kíli’s pale cheek, surprised at the coolness of his skin when only hours ago Kíli had been flushed with fever. Small hands trembled against his chest, curling tighter in his shirt as Fíli’s hitching breaths slowly calmed. Thorin untangled himself from both of them.

 

“We must warm him--” He stood only to be pulled back by Fíli.

 

“Do not go again!”

 

“I will only be lighting the fire, Fíli. I will not even leave your sight. Be still, you want to help your brother, yes?”

 

Fíli wavered for a moment, but gave a single solemn nod and let him go. Thorin hurried to restart the fire, but the logs he had painstakingly gathered when his sister-sons took a turn for the worse were all gone. When had the wood pile diminished so? How could it have gone unnoticed?

 

There was a single one left, the yule log. He frowned, picking it up, with hands that would not stop their infernal shaking. Were it not for Kíli’s whim, they would not even have this. And what harm was there in burning it early if--

 

He threw it onto the ashy grate before he could finish his line of thought. The task was difficult with so little kindling left, but the sappy smell of the yule log soon began to permeate the room. He walked-- _crawled--_ back to the bed, dragging his body up to sit upon it more of a challenge than it should have been. Fíli looked up at him bedraggled and forlorn.

 

“I-It is too soon to burn the yule log.”

 

“I know... but it is all we have left,” he smoothed a hand over his brow, “I will get us another. When-- when we have all recovered.”

 

“But--” The rest of Fíli’s words were swallowed by a cough, followed by another, and another, in an unending stream until a blue hue began to tinge his face.

 

He lunged for the child, turning Fíli onto his side and pressing his fingers deep into Fíli’s mouth. The dwarfling gagged, struggling until he hacked abruptly, retching up the slimy mucus that would have suffocated him. Thorin settled him back on the bed, pulling him away from the soiled covers. A damp rag still lay over the side table from when he had been battling Kíli’s fever. He used it now to wipe his sister-son’s face, as Fíli sobbed weakly between shorter bouts of coughing.

 

“Fíli-- Fíli, breathe slowly-- Peace, you shall be all right...”  his voice shook with an insecurity he had not felt since the wrath of the drake fell upon his homeland.

 

“I-It--” Fíli croaked with a whimper, swallowing with difficulty, “It _hurts_...”

 

“I know. I know it,” He whispered miserably, powerless to provide any real relief, “You must be strong, Fíli. For me-- for your mother. Take heart and keep faith. She shall be here soon.”

 

Fíli wheezed, tear tracks staining his pale cheeks, “W-What if... if _we_ are not?”

 

Thorin startled at the misery in his sister-son’s eyes, “What say you, Fíli! Of course we will be here--”

 

“And i-if Kíli does not wake--”

 

“He shall. He _shall_ ,” Thorin pressed a kiss into damp golden hair, trying somehow to imbue his strength of will into his ailing boy. “Fíli-- I did not name you after despair. Do not let such an evil take root in your heart.”

 

“You--” Weary eyes looked up at him, “You named me? But I thought-- I thought that Da--”

 

Something akin to guilt washed over Thorin’s smile.

 

“Aye, it is usually the honor of a father to name his sons,” he pushed back the sweaty hair stuck to Fíli’s face, “But for an heir of Durin’s line, that privilege belongs to the King.”

 

“I do not understand,” Fíli’s small brow crinkled, “Da named me Fíli.”

 

“He did, but that is your _ikhrum_ , the only name outsiders may know you by,” He clarified, shifting to climb into the bed and pull both dwarflings to either side. “But _sankherum_ , your true name, that only those closest to your heart will ever know... It was my responsibility to bestow it upon you. Just as my grandfather bestowed it on me.”

 

“And Mama?”

 

“Yes, your mother also was named by the King.”

 

“ _Mizimel_ ,” Fíli murmured and his lips trembled.

 

“The Light of all Lights,” Thorin’s voice rumbled deep in his chest, reverberating around the slowly warming chamber, “For she was born on the first day of Spring, when the lingering clouds of Winter parted at last, and the Sun’s light shone unshrouded into the mountain once more. For Grandfather, indeed for all of us, there was no greater light than the one she brought into our lives that day. And ever since.”

 

Fíli’s breath rasped in his throat in the ensuing silence. His fingers curled into Thorin’s tunic, hiding the brown stains under his fingernails. His shaking had lessened somewhat, but his voice was still thin and reedy.

 

“And what-- what about my name?”

 

Thorin sighed, jaw working as his eyes drifted somewhere far away.

 

“We had-- We had returned from the Gates of Azanulbizar...” grief threatened to choke him right then, and for a long moment he could not speak past the tightness in his throat, “For your mother, the loss of those who did not return... was nearly too much to bear. The months that followed were very difficult. She did not have an easy time while carrying you. The grief threatened to conquer us all.”

 

Fíli pressed his face into Thorin’s chest, as if to soothe a hurt long since past. Thorin watched the long shadows dancing about the ceiling.

 

“There were too few of us who returned to a failing people with the strength to work. And even then trade was poor, for we were newly arrived in the Blue Mountains, and to Men we seemed strange and suspicious. They had but few dealings with our people before we settled here. Long were the hours in the forge those days to keep our people fed. Late one evening, Dwalin barreled into the forge and I _knew._

 

“You came into the world in the long hours of dusk. Your hair golden... like our lost Frerin,” Thorin pulled him closer, resting his chin on a blonde head, “But the ache of such a reminder was somehow softer. The veil of despair in our hearts was lifted with your tiny cries. It had been long since our people had last heard the cry of a healthy babe. Looking upon you we found hope for a future we had thought lost to us. And so you became our _Zirinurâl--_ renewer of Hope.”

 

Fíli smiled, his face pale and drawn in the flickering light of the fire. His eyes were glassy and distant, as his breath rattled in his chest.

 

“And... and Kíli?” he reached for the limp hand of his younger brother, shivering at the clammy coldness of his skin.

 

Thorin frowned down at his youngest, the tension curling in his stomach at the unresponsive sleep the dwarfling had fallen into. When he continued, his voice was softer.

 

“Do you remember the Autumn before he was born?”

 

“It... it was very cold...”

 

“Yes, and the frosts took most of the harvest. There was little that year to be traded for our crafts. You were too young to remember just how fell that winter was. Longer, and colder, with the ache in our bellies growing sharper each day.

 

“Your mother--” Thorin huffed a pained laugh, “It hurt her to see us suffering so that she and you would not go without. Our spirits were tested that year. Brought low, and indeed, nearly broken. There came upon us a long storm of ice. It dragged on for days, scraping over the mountains. The winds cutting into our bones with a chill no fire could melt away. Day and night blurred into one, and the dark had lasted so long we thought surely the Sun had forsaken us.”

 

He swallowed against the dryness in his parched throat, “That is when Kíli decided to come into the world-- but it was too soon. Much too soon.”

 

“I remember...” Fíli’s breath labored, “Everyone was shouting... and running... Y-You were holding me. Mama was screaming... and I was frightened...”

 

“Yes. We all were, dear one,” Thorin pressed his lips against Fíli’s brow. “But do you remember how strong Kíli’s cries were in the twilight? The Sun returned to us then, as if he had woken her[1] from slumber. With her light our joy was rekindled. And so Kíli became--”

 

“ _Hôfukugûn_ ,” Fíli squeezed his brother’s hand with trembling fingers.

 

“The return of joy,” Thorin finished, his eyes drooping closed no matter how much he willed them to stay open.

 

“I’m _frightened_ ,” Fíli whispered into the still dark.

 

“I am here,” He murmured back.

 

Fíli spoke no more, but he could not recall why that was cause for alarm. His thoughts slowed and muddled with his rising fever. The gentle crackle of the fire in the hearth finally made him lose his battle against fatigue.

 

All was quiet as the moonlight filtering through the window traveled lazily across the room.

 

.

* * *

.

 

Something squirmed against him, gently waking Thorin from his repose. A little hand slapped his face. 

 

“Uncle?” Kíli croaked.

 

He startled awake, turning to see his youngest who was blinking back at him.

 

“Oh thank Mahal,” Thorin breathed into the little one’s hair, pulling Kíli close. The dwarfling did not resist, fingers tangling and tugging on Thorin’s braids as was his want.

 

The healthy glow had returned to his skin. His neck was clean of the rash and deep scratches that Kíli had inflicted on himself at the height of his sickness. The firelight gleamed on his hair, no longer matted or sweat dampened, his clothes fresh and dry. On his other side, Fíli stirred, and much like his younger brother, he seemed much recovered.

 

His yawn was long and tired, but free of the terrible coughs, “Uncle, I’m thirsty.”

 

“Fíli, you-- you are feeling well?”

 

“Hmm,” Fíli nodded with another yawn, stretching his arms over his head so that his sleeves fell down to his elbows. His skin devoid of the red bubbling sores the rash had induced. 

 

Thorin had no memory of washing them up. He hardly remembered falling asleep. It could not have been overlong as the scent of the yule log still drifted about the room. Perhaps, in his own fever stupor he had--

 

“Uncle Thorin, who is that?” Kíli mumbled.

 

“What?” He pulled back, a rough palm rubbing soothing circles into Kíli’s back. “Who is who?”

 

Fíli sat up rubbing at his eyes, and stilled. An awed whisper left his lips.

 

“Da...”

 

Thorin’s eyes snapped up.

 

Silhouetted against the light of the fire sat a tall dwarf, dark hair haloed by the flickering light. Metal scraped against wood, low and rhythmic, alongside the crackle of the fire. Shavings fluttered to the ground about his feet as he hummed in chorus to the wood, metal and fire, an ancient Yule tune, soft and soothing.

 

And hauntingly familiar.

 

“ _Da_!” Fíli leapt from the bed.

 

“Fíli, no!” but Thorin was powerless stop him.

 

He left the shadows surrounding the bed behind and barrelled into the light, “Da! _Da_!”

 

“Why look at you, little Nugget! You’re practically grown!”

 

Jóli caught his son as he jumped into his open arms, lifting and tossing him high up. Fíli squealed and giggled, light shining upon his head like a golden crown.

 

“Ho! You’re heavier than I last remember too!” He chuckled settling a grinning Fíli on his lap.

 

“Fíli--” Thorin’s heart ached to hear such delight in Fíli’s laugh, a note that had greatly faded ever since his father...

 

His blood ran cold at the memory.

 

“Jóli, leave him be!” He rose from the bed suddenly, determined and angry, though his voice was gentled as he looked at his sister-son, “Fíli, lad-- come back, please.”

 

The dwarfling’s smile faltered, “But, Uncle Thorin... It’s Da, look. It’s-- it’s _Da_.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” It was not his want to beg, “Do as I say, come _back._ ”

 

Fíli looked conflicted, but did not stray from his father’s warm embrace.

 

“Now, now-- Nugget. Don’t look so sad. Show me that smile again? It’s been too long since I’ve gotten to poke at these,” his fingers tickled chubby cheeks until Fili laughed once more, revealing the dimples hidden there, “There now, that’s much better! You didn’t get these from your grumpy Uncle, did you?”

 

“Jóli!” Thorin growled, taking a step forward, just shy of the light, “Return him at once!”

 

When the other dwarf looked up, the firelight formed a bright halo around him, obscuring his face. He did not speak, but his silence seemed somehow a reproach. Jóli tilted his head then, looking around Thorin.

 

 “And who is that there? Can that be Da’s _wee_ little Tadpole? Come into to the light, let me look at you.”

 

Kíli had climbed down from the bed, hiding in Thorin’s shadow as he watched the stranger and his Uncle argue. He scrunched his face, when the strange dwarf spoke. His voice sounded odd and familiar at once, like something from a dream long forgotten. But as the other dwarf called to him, he stepped back, little hands curling tight in his uncle’s breeches.

 

“Do not stray from my side, Kíli,” Thorin’s hand settled on his head with the gentle command. Kíli’s large eyes stared up at him innocently.

 

The hostility did little to discourage Jóli. He dismissed Thorin all together, beckoning his son closer with a wave and a warm smile, “Whatever is the matter, my Kíli? Come to Da--”

 

Taking a step back further behind Thorin, Kíli shook his head and held tight.

 

“Kíli--” Fíli started worriedly, leaving his father’s lap to coax his brother nearer, “Kíli it is, _Da_. He has come back to us! Come see for yourself...”

 

The little one peaked from around his Uncle, but shook his head.

 

“Have you forgotten me already, Tadpole?”

 

Kíli stared long at the stranger, little brow furrowing, before pressing his face into the back of Thorin’s knee. Jóli’s smile never faltered, though a wistful air hung about him. He pulled a small wooden toy out of his pocket and set it down on the border between them. Shadow and light warred to claim it as the firelight waved and flickered.

 

“You would have loved this once...” Jóli spoke tenderly, “Though I’m not so sure anymore...”

 

“Enough of your games, Jóli!” Thorin trembled in fury, glaring hard but a moment at the toy, the _bribe_ , before kicking it away from the reach of his youngest, “Be gone and leave us be!”

 

He realized his error too late, turning only to see a frightened Kíli scrambling back into the dark. The shadows swallowed him, and he was lost from sight, though somehow that felt almost a comfort. But Fíli-- who had been so near-- now backed against his father, shock and confusion warring on his face. 

 

“Boys--” Thorin paled, looking at Fíli and then to where Kíli had disappeared in the darkness.

 

“Hmm,” Jóli scratched at his beard, “No need for a temper, Thorin. Really, what kind of example are you setting for my boys?”

 

He bristled, “How _dare--_ ”

 

In his peripheral, he saw a small figure scurry near the edge of the shadows. Kíli stood contemplating the toy figurine where it lay harmlessly on its side.

 

“Kíli--!” Thorin called in warning, reaching out too late.

 

The little one stepped into the light, crouching down to study the new found toy. He picked it up gingerly, and laughed, smoothing his hands over the carved wood.

 

“Uncle look!” Kíli waved the toy enthusiastically, before making the little figure walk on the ground, humming a tuneless song.

 

Thorin approached him carefully, walking along the boundaries of the light. Crouching down as close as he dared. 

 

“Kíli. Kíli please, _please_ come here to me.”

 

“Why?” The dwarfling blinked up at him, oblivious to his Uncle’s distress. He turned and remembered his brother’s presence, taking off towards him with a smile. 

 

“ _Kíli_!” 

 

Stuck fast, alone in the dark, Thorin fell to his knees, all strength drained as a great weight anchored him to the ground. Fear dried up his voice, ice seeping through his veins as the gloom closed in, pulling at him, trying to drive him back. He could not bear the light, and yet he could not, _would_ not turn away. Will alone kept the black from completely swarming his vision.

 

Some doom sought to keep him from his sister-sons, but he could not leave them behind. He would not.

 

Kíli reached his brother, bouncing and excited, “Fí! Fí, look!”

 

“It’s wonderful, Kíli!” Fíli caught his younger brother around the waist, spinning him around much to the younger’s  glee. When he set his brother down, he studied the toy, “Look, his feet are so strange!”

 

“Well, I like them!” Kíli declared with vehemence, selfishly pulling the figure away when his brother tried to touch it. Fíli huffed with a roll of his eyes, running back to his father and jumping onto his back with a whoop.

 

“Da?” Fíli looped his arms around his neck, “Da, can you stay with us? Please, Da?”

 

“My, but you’ve gotten strong, haven’t you?” Jóli’s laugh was clear and bright as he pulled his son over his shoulder, prompting another peal of elated giggles, “Can I stay? Well, Nugget... I’m not so certain, it depends...”

 

“Depends? On what?” Fíli’s joy withered at his words, “Oh please do not go again! Da-- If you cannot stay, may I go with you? Please, Da, _please_?”

 

Jóli’s smile turned strange again, fragile, as though it might break at any moment. He pulled Fíli close for a long moment, pressing a kiss to his nose.

 

“I’ve got something for you too, Nugget, here--”

 

The wooden toy was exquisitely carved. No detail was spared, from the curling tail, to the spreading wings, sharp claws and pointed teeth, and the finely etched scales covering the expanse of the wood.

 

Fíli stared at the dragon.

 

“Look here,” Jóli’s fingers wiggled the tail of the beast and its wings flapped up and down. Chuckling, he held it out to his son, “Took me some time to devise that. Here, son.”

 

Eyes wide and hesitant, Fíli did not reach for the toy, looking back suddenly at his Uncle steeped in the shadows. Seeking permission-- or direction, Thorin could not be sure. He grit his teeth and glared at the atrocity of a toy.  His expression softened when he returned his gaze to Fíli, but he could not utter a single word past his lips.

 

“May I see, Fíli? Let me see!” Kíli poked his nose around his brothers arm, eyes widening when they fell upon the dragon. “I-I do not like that one...”

 

The warmth of the stranger so near dawned upon him, and he clutched the little figure in his hands. Only he did not seem so strange up close. Sawdust tainted his clothes, and the smell of fresh cut wood clung to him.

 

Sawdust and wood.

 

“Da?”

 

 “Hello, little Tadpole,” Jóli met his curious gaze with a smile so tender it tickled something deep in Kíli’s heart, and he was no longer afraid.

 

“I like this,” he affirmed, holding up the toy with a grin.

 

“Aye, and I’m glad you do,” Jóli winked, his hand cupping his Kíli’s face. Looking back at his eldest, he offered the dragon once more, prompting gently, “Take it.”

 

Fíli hesitated again, but did not reach for it, “Da...”

 

 After a long moment, he looked up at his father, and then back at Thorin. When his gaze returned to the toy dragon, his hands clenched at his sides. He looked down at his feet, unable to face his father.

 

Jóli’s smile never faltered, never stiffened, never judged. The toy disappeared into his coat again. A cool breeze shifted on the air, accosting the fire.

 

He looked upon Kíli, callous fingers tracing the impish features of his son’s beardless face, “Ever have you been the joy of my heart, Kíli. Remember this if nothing else.”

 

Kíli blinked when he felt the kiss on his brow, warmth suffusing his body. Making him shiver against the rising wind.

 

Jóli looked back to his eldest, settling large hands on his son’s thin shoulders. Craning his neck to look into Fíli’s downturned face, he was surprised to find tears.

 

“What’s this?” Jóli asked dismayed, wiping his little dwarfling’s face,  “Now, now. There are no reasons for tears here, Nugget.”

 

“I am sorry, Da. I...” Fíli tangled his fingers into his father’s dark hair, and Jóli pulled him closer, until their foreheads gently bumped.

 

“Fíli. Hear me when I say this, and keep faith,” his words held a quiet power, “You are, and always will be, a good son.”

 

The fire blew out, smoke curling in its wake, leaving them in pitch blackness. Thorin gasped and reeled back, released from the pressure that had been holding him captive. He stood on shaky feet, searching in the darkness that had swallowed Jóli and his sister-sons. 

 

“Kíli! Fíli! _Boys_?!” Thorin called tightly.

 

There was no answer.

 

His arms reached out into the black mire, meeting nothing but cold empty air.

 

“ _Fíli_! _Kíli_!”

 

His shouts grew more frantic and his feet tangled under him, sending him to the ground with a hard thump. He groaned, still flailing, desperate to find his boys. He fought and thrashed against unseen forces, refusing to give up, to give in, to--

 

“Thorin! Thor--- Omph!!”

 

His swirling head pounded with every shake of his body. 

 

“Wake up you big oaf!!”

 

Water splashed his face and Thorin started, grabbing onto cloth and beard and--

 

“ _Dwalin_?!”

 

Bewilderment stole over his face.

 

“Aye-- now leggo before I shave what’s left of your beard!!” his friend growled.

 

Thorin released him immediately. A pair of sturdy hands helped him find his feet. The stone floor was cold, but the fireplace burned bright with fresh wood. Sweat drenched his shirt, but his fever-- his fever had broken.

 

“The _boys_!” Panic quickly took over his mind as his eyes failed to find the two dwarflings near,  “Where--”

 

“ _Shut it!_ ” Dwalin all but hissed, “Dís just put them to bed. If you wake them now, you’ll be answering to her and I’ll be finding my way out the door.”

 

Thorin’s glare was absolutely _not_ petulant, “Coward.”

 

Dwalin rolled his eyes, but a fierce grin soon twisted his mouth as he butted their heads together none too gently, “I’d have found a way to kill you again if you had left us behind.”

 

“That is because you are a fool,” there was an apology hidden somewhere in his answering smile.

 

“Come, the little ones have been asking after you.”

 

Dwalin let him take the lead, following close behind should he falter. The floor no longer swayed under his feet, his steps steady if slow. The lamps were dimmed in the dwarflings’ room, a soft humming drifting through the open door.

 

An ancient yule tune, haunting and familiar.

 

“Thorin?” Dwalin touched his shoulder when he halted.

 

Shaking his head, he proceeded, catching sight of his sister for the first time in nearly two weeks. Dís paced the room in a soothing pattern, a sleeping Kíli in her arms. Her hand played with the soft hairs on the back of his neck, cheek resting on the crown of his head. She caught sight of Thorin and her pacing stalled.

 

“Thorin.”

 

Her smile was warm in the way of promising a proper thrashing later. Dwalin lingered in the door jamb, finding something interesting to study in the hall.

 

“We came upon you two nights ago,” Dís murmured, her smile doing little to hide grimness of her words, “I thought you dead.”

 

His hands clenched to fists at his side. Dís swayed the babe in her arms.

 

“Dwalin, if you would be so kind as to fetch me some fresh water for when the children wake?”

 

“Aye,” he grumbled, pausing only a moment to meet eyes with Thorin, and he was gone.

 

His sister would not look up at him, instead her gaze stayed locked on the sleeping form of her eldest son. Fíli lay curled on his brother’s bed, as his own bed-- where they had all three spent the long nights suffering the onslaught of their sickness--  had been stripped and pulled out of the room. He tilted his head, squinting at the pillow Fíli’s small body was wrapped around. Thorin recognized it as his own. The color had returned to his skin, and while his breathing was yet raspy, it came much easier.

 

“We met Oin on the road back from Bree,” Dís swallowed before she could continue, “He had found some kind of herb. He came with us here, but there were many who needed his aid. He left us with instructions, and promised a full recovery-- if you made it through that first night. You were all so pale...”

 

Her voice died.

 

“I promised them...” Thorin smiled wearily, crossing the room to gently lean his forehead against her temple, “That they would see you again. Thank you for not making me look the fool.”

 

Her cool hand found the back of his neck, “You are no less a fool.”

 

Thorin wiped away the tears that rolled unbidden down her cheeks.

 

 “Forgive me,” the gravely depths of his voice washed over her, “I would not abandon you willingly.”

 

“Shut it,” She took a stealing breath, regaining her composure, “I will wake the children. They need their rest. And so do you.”

 

He kissed her brow,  breathing deeply as he had not been able to in days. The air around him smelled fresh, finally free of the cloying scent of illness. The fire warmed him thoroughly as it had not for several days. Moonlight streamed through the window, bathing his sister-sons with a softness that no longer accentuated their sickly pallor, but the life recovering within them now.

 

His hand found its way to Kíli’s soft baby hair where he dreamed soundly in his mother’s warm embrace. The sleeping child held a toy tight in his grasp. The strange little figure smiled up at him; the detail impeccable, from the buttons on his waistcoat, to the curly hair on his head and feet, and gnarled little walking stick in his hand.

 

Dís noticed his stunned stare before long, following it to the toy.

 

“It was very kind of Bofur to drop off some toys in spite of the risk,” Dís smiled, “Kíli has not put this one down for a single instant. It seems a comfort to him. I had not the heart to pull it away when he fell asleep.”

 

Thorin could not speak. The words choked in his throat.

 

“It almost,” Her voice became soft with an old melancholy, “It almost looks like something Jóli would have dreamt up. He was always fond of such funny little things.”

 

Kíli stirred with a sigh that turned into a short cough, nuzzling deeper into his mother’s neck. His grip on the toy figurine never loosened.

 

Slowly, he turned his eyes to the fireplace. Soot blackened brick, ashes strewn upon the floor, and the steady burning of the fire were all there was to be seen.

 

“Yes.”

 

Thorin found his voice at last.

 

“Yes, he was.”

 

* * *

 

**_~Fin~_ **

 

* * *

 

 

[1] The Sun-- In Tolkien’s mythology, the female maia Arien commands the vessel of the Sun. For this reason, I have Thorin refer to the Sun with feminine pronouns. I like to think the Dwarves, being the children of Aulë who created the vessels for the Sun and Moon, would know this secret.

Regarding Mízimel meaning “Light of all Lights” -- Funny note on this name, I mixed the meaning up in my notes with another name "Lukhudel". So Mízimel actually means "Jewel of all Jewels." For the sake of the canon of this series, let's all pretend it means otherwise x'DDD //shame face

My Khuzdul comes from [this lovely dictionary](http://www.scribd.com/doc/98387422/Khuzdul-Dictionary-E-K-v01-JUN12) as well as some linguistic acrobatics of my own, thanks!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking along for this bumpy ride. I know it took a long time to reach the end of this. I hope it was satisfactory. Thanks!


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